


invisible strings (tying you to me)

by LiveSincerely



Series: Tease [8]
Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alpha Jack, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Getting Together, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mating Bond, Mutual Pining, Omega Davey, Possessive Behavior, Possessive David Jacobs, Possessive Jack Kelly, featuring the usual levels of romantic bullshit, i didn't mean to write this, this is for me but y'all can read it too if you want, though the 9.5K word count probably makes that hard to believe, trope-typical depictions of sexism/harassment, very self indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:00:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28255812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiveSincerely/pseuds/LiveSincerely
Summary: It’s the smell that catches Jack’s attention first—a citrusy sweet scent that drifts into Newsies Square with the morning breeze. Jack tilts his head, glancing up and down the street for the source, wondering if he can afford to spare a few cents for a morning pastry because heneedsa bite of whatever that is, can already feel his mouth watering in anticipation… and then he sees Les and Davey break through the crowd.Les is oddly subdued, staying close to his brother’s side, and Davey looks off, somehow, in a way that Jack can’t quite but his finger on, his mouth pursed and his eyes bright with irritation and… and…There’s another gust of wind and that delicious smell hits again, even stronger this time, and holy shit, that’sDavey.The hair on the back of Jack’s neck stands on end.
Relationships: David Jacobs/Jack Kelly
Series: Tease [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/763110
Comments: 23
Kudos: 84





	invisible strings (tying you to me)

It’s the smell that catches Jack’s attention first—a citrusy sweet scent that drifts into Newsies Square with the morning breeze. Jack tilts his head, glancing up and down the street for the source, wondering if he can afford to spare a few cents for a morning pastry because he _needs_ a bite of whatever that is, can already feel his mouth watering in anticipation… and then he sees Les and Davey break through the crowd. 

Les is oddly subdued, staying close to his brother’s side, and Davey looks off, somehow, in a way that Jack can’t quite but his finger on, his mouth pursed and his eyes bright with irritation and… and…

There’s another gust of wind and that delicious smell hits again, even stronger this time, and holy shit, that’s _Davey_.

The hair on the back of Jack’s neck stands on end.

“Hi, Jack,” Les greets quickly, before peeling off to go join the littles in their daily pre-work game of marbles.

“Hey, bud,” Jack responds, a few seconds too late for Les to hear him, his eyes fixed unerringly on Davey. Now that he’s closer Jack can see how flushed he is—his eyes a touch glassy and his face and neck shaded pink with fever—which is far more distracting than it has any right to be. “Uh, Dave? You doin’ alright?”

“If that’s your way of asking if I’m in pre-heat,” Davey says, and the edge of sarcasm in his voice does nothing to dull the way those words hit Jack like a punch to the gut. “Then, yes, I’m in pre-heat.”

“And that’s… okay?” Jack says, trying to find a delicate way to ask if it’s good idea for Davey to be out and about in this state.

“It’s fine, _I’m fine,_ ” Davey says, in a tone that indicates that he’s already had this conversation a few times this morning. “Just because my cycle’s coming up doesn’t mean I’m gonna lose my mind trying to get any Alpha I come across to—” He cuts off abruptly, nostrils flaring, but Jack hears the rest of that sentence loud and clear: _Doesn’t mean I’m gonna lose my mind trying to get any Alpha I come across to knot me._

Which is an image that Jack _really_ didn’t need put in his head.

“I know it doesn’t,” Jack says carefully, dragging his wandering mind back to the present. "I’m not sayin’ anythin’ of the sort. But Racer gets cramps like you wouldn’t believe and Blink’s nose gets so sensitive he can’t hardly stand to be out in the city, let alone hawk papes all day. I guess I’m jus’ sayin’...” He pauses, searching for a way to put this into words without invoking any more of Davey’s ire. “I jus’ wanted to check, ya know? Check and...”

Davey looks at him, and then the defensive set of his shoulders relaxes slightly. 

“...You just wanted to make sure,” Davey finishes softly. “Of course you did, you’re Jack, you don’t know how to be anything but stupidly overprotective.” He shakes his head and sighs, then continues, “Sorry, I don’t mean to snap at you, but it’s already been a rough morning and I’m a little on edge. But I’m okay, honestly, just feeling a bit achy and, well, irritable, as you can see.”

“Fair enough,” Jack says. “I hadta ask, but if ya say it’s fine, then I believe ya. I mean, you’re the one that'd know, right?”

Jack feels like he’s working with only half of his brain, just standing there stating the obvious like a goddamn moron and trying not to breathe too deeply lest the cloud of Davey scent send him into a complete tailspin, but Davey smiles at him like he’s said something incredible.

“Right,” Davey agrees, his scent cresting even sweeter as his expression lifts. “Exactly.” 

They stare at each other, the moment stretching on and on. 

Davey takes a step back and clears his throat, blinking rapidly. “Well, we should probably get going.” 

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Jack agrees, giving himself a little shake—like that might clear some of Davey’s scent from his nose. It doesn’t, of course, but a fella can hope. “Sure, of course. “

“So, um, how many more days do you think you’ll be able to work?” Jack asks as they get in line for their papes—not wanting to push but needing to know what he’s in for. “Before it, uh, hits for real?”

“My cycles tend to be pretty mild, so maybe another couple of days at least?” Davey says, nonchalant, and Jack’s brain stutters like an engine misfiring. “I can’t really afford to miss too many days of work, so I’m going to try and wait it out for as long as I can. But I’ll play it by ear.”

Jack swallows heavily. Davey already smells goddamn delicious, like spiced citrus and orange blossoms, all surrounded by a heady honey-sweetness, and it’s only going to get stronger. If this is what counts as mild, then Jack’s not sure he’ll survive for another two days.

“Oh,” he says weakly. “Sure, that makes sense.”

They move steadily up the line. Jack knows that Davey is talking to him but he’s having a hard time paying attention to the conversation—even harder than usual. Everything about Davey seems especially enticing today: Jack finds his gaze lingering on the swell of his lower lip, plump and pink, on the gentle flutter of his lashes, perfectly framed around those big blue eyes, on the long, lean line of his throat, and of course, there’s still that intoxicating scent. 

Jack realizes that Davey’s asked him a question and has been waiting several seconds for an answer, quickly stammering out, “Uh, yeah, definitely.”

Davey frowns. Jack panics.

“Hey, Kelly, Jacobs,” Morris DeLancey calls, annoyed, and Jack’s never been grateful for a DeLancey in his life, but apparently there’s a first for everything. “Are ya buyin’ your papes or what? You’re holdin’ us up.”

Jack fishes in his pockets with fumbling hands, hurriedly handing over the money while Davey collects the papes.

“Hey, Oscar,” Davey says after thumbing through the stack, passing them to Jack once he’s through counting them. “We’re one short.”

DeLancey shrugs—like he couldn’t care less about cheating them out of a pape, the bastard—and goes to hand Davey another one, but then he pauses, head cocked and nose twitching as he catches a scent. He snatches the pape back just as Davey reaches for it. 

“Sure you wanna be hittin’ the streets there, Jacobs?” he says with a smirk, a dark glint in his eye. “You’re smellin’ a little… _ripe for the takin’,_ if ya know what I mean. Might wanna—”

Davey’s scent goes pungently bitter—to the point that Jack staggers back a little at the strength of it. He pins DeLancey with a glare so withering that he falters mid word.

“Give me my _fucking newspaper,_ ” Davey bites out, his voice absolutely dripping with contempt.

There’s a distinct note of fear threading through the air as DeLancey holds the pape out again. Davey rips it from his hand so violently that the thing nearly tears in half, then stalks away, fuming.

“You really don’t got a single lick of sense, do ya, DeLancey?” Jack says with a sneer, then hurries after him.

“That fucking asshole,” Davey spits out when Jack catches up to him, almost too furious to speak. “Fucking DeLancey and his _alpha posturing bullshit._ ”

“You wanna go back over there and punch him?” Jack offers, and he keeps his tone light but he’s deadly serious. “I’ll hold his arms for ya.”

Davey takes in a breath, then lets it out slowly, visibly straining for calm. 

“No,” he eventually grits out. “No, it’s not worth it.”

“Do ya need a second?”

“I just want to get this day over with,” Davey admits, expression torn between frustration and weariness.

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” Jack promises. He can’t pull Davey into a hug the way he wants to—that will put his nose a little too close to Davey’s neck and he doesn’t trust himself not to just press his face against Davey’s scent gland and _inhale—_ so he settles for a simple pat on the back. “Let’s grab Les and shake a leg.”

For a second it feels like Davey sways on his feet, leaning ever so slightly into the contact, but the moment passes so quickly that Jack can’t be sure it ain’t just wishful thinking on his part. They start heading over to Les, but then a sudden thought occurs to him.

“Jackie?” Davey questions, when he notices that Jack’s stopped walking.

“One sec,” Jack says, turning back towards the distribution line. “I wanna see if one of the fellas can come with us today.”

He tries to say this as casually as possible, but of course Davey sees right through him, hitting Jack with a look—the one that says he thinks Jack’s being ridiculous.

“We don’t need a chaperone, Jackie,” he says firmly, like even just offering the possibility is absurd. “You’re nothing like Oscar DeLancey, you’re not going to hurt me.”

Something in Jack preens at this statement, impossibly pleased at Davey’s faith in him. But this isn’t something Jack’s willing to budge on.

“It’d make me feel better to have someone else watchin’ your back. Someone that for sure won’t get caught up in any _‘alpha posturing bullshit,'”_ he says, mimicking Davey’s tone from before.

“Fine,” Davey says, rolling his eyes even as a smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. “If that’s what you want. But I really don’t think that would’ve been an issue.”

Jack thinks that Davey’s giving him far too much credit, or is just drastically underestimating how good he smells. But he doesn’t say any of that, instead continuing to scan through the throng of Newsies that haven’t set off yet, searching for someone who’d be down to accompany them.

“Hey, Racer,” Jack calls when he spots him, waving to get his attention. “Come sellin’ with us?”

Racetrack wanders over, glances between Jack and Davey and then back to Jack, and catches onto the crux of the matter immediately. “Yeah, sure,” he agrees. “No such thing as too much back up.”

“Race, you’re supposed to be on my side,” Davey says, “helping me team up against Jack, not the other way around. Where’s the omega solidarity?”

“Ain’t you the one always tellin’ me to stop taking stupid risks?” Racer asks, somewhat absently, looking over Davey with a critical eye. “Hey, Davey, can I give you a hug? You look like ya need one.”

Davey opens his arms immediately. “Oh my god, yes, please.”

Racer is several inches shorter, but he makes a valiant attempt at wrapping Davey up in his arms. A rush of seething jealousy hits Jack like a wave breaking against the rocks, but he fights it down as best he can because he knows he’s being an idiot.

Jack doesn’t need to step between them, doesn’t need to tear Davey from Race’s grasp, doesn’t need to bare his teeth at him for _daring_ to put his hands on Jack's— 

Jack doesn’t need to do any of that. Jack doesn’t need to do anything at all, except find a nice dark hole to drop himself into, or maybe run headlong into a brick wall and spend the rest of Davey’s heat blissfully unconscious, because he doesn’t know how else he’s gonna make it through.

Race curls his fingers around the nape of Davey’s neck, Davey lets out a soft, contented noise, sinking further into the embrace, and Jack has to stuff his hands into his pockets to keep from reaching out for him.

He is so _fucked._

00000

It’s ain’t the worst morning Jack’s ever had, but it’s damn sure up there. He’d spent the walk out talking with Les—or, really, letting Les chatter at him a mile-a-minute and very carefully _not_ looking at where Racetrack and Davey are walking arm in arm, heads tipped together as they whisper and laugh.

But it’s when they actually start working that things really take a turn for the worse. Jack’s only putting the barest bit of effort into sellin’ his papes, most of his attention focused on where Race and Davey are selling just down the street. Davey seems like he’s doing okay to begin with, but as the morning rush continues, Jack notices that he’s getting a lot of... unwanted attention, to say the least. He and Race look like they have it well in hand, but by midday Davey is visibly tense, shoulders hunched up around his ears and looking like he might beat the next person that so much as looks at him wrong bloody with a rolled up newspaper.

Jack foists one last pape off to a random passerby, barely even waiting long enough to take their coin, then makes his way over. As he approaches, he sees Race and Davey exchange a few words, with Davey disappearing into a nearby alley for what looks like a well-deserved breather. 

“How is he?” Jack asks quietly, nodding his head towards where Davey is pacing and muttering to himself, incensed.

“He could be doin’ better,” Race admits, running a hand through his hair, brow furrowed with concern. “It feels like every other person that passes has got somethin’ smart to say. Asshole customers ain’t nothin’ new, but he’s gettin’ harassed pretty bad and he ain’t in any kinda mindset to put up with it.”

“You think someone’s gonna try somethin’?” Jack asks seriously, crossing his arms over his chest. “I know they ain’t exactly the same, but you can usually make it to at least your second day of pre-heat before anyone gets handsy.”

“I ain’t worried about that, his scent ain’t anywhere close to peaking,” Race says, shaking his head. “Though, I guess anythin’s possible. I’m more worried that the next person that sniffs too hard is gonna get their lights punched out.”

Jack considers this. Pre-heat can come with a variety of symptoms, and different omegas are prone to different ones. Racetrack tends to get horribly painful cramps and turns into an absolute cuddle monster, crawling all over anyone who will sit still and pet his hair for a few minutes. Blink’s senses get super sensitive, usually sending him into the safety of a nest for several days, refusing to let anyone touch him unless they’ve washed the stink of the streets from their skin. Davey, it seems, is the type that runs hot, both his fever and his temper, which is such a departure from his usual disposition that it’s almost comical. 

Because Davey is normally as steady as an oak tree, impossibly patient and put together. His anger is like water in a dam—carefully contained and difficult to surmount, but with a hard limit nonetheless. But now with his heat coming on, that dam seems like it’s dangerously close to bursting.

“Let’s try and keep it from gettin’ that far,” Jack says with a wince. “The last thing Davey needs is to get arrested for murder.”

“So you’re gonna talk him into goin’ home?” Race asks, looking relieved at the prospect. 

“I’m gonna try.”

Jack steps over to where Davey is pacing up and down the alley. His hands are balled into fists at his sides, his knuckles showing white through the skin, and his citrusy-sweet scent gone almost acidic with aggression. 

“Hey, Davey,” Jack says gently as he approaches. “Maybe you should just go ahead and call it quits for the day.”

Davey whirls around, eyes on fire. _“I am just fine—!_ ”

“You are not fine,” Jack says calmly. “And I’m not even talking about your heat, though I’m sure that ain’t making things any easier on you.” 

He steps forward, running a hand soothingly along Davey’s arm, then catching his wrist in his palm and squeezing it lightly. _“_ _Querido_ _,_ you smell like you’re two seconds from kicking someone’s teeth in, and that’s from a block and a half away. You’re fucking _miserable._ ”

Davey deflates, his head hanging low. “I could keep selling,” he says, but it’s a weak protest. “I could.”

I know you could, if ya had to,” Jack assures him. “But ya don’t have to. You don’t got nothin’ to prove to nobody, you hear me? People are dicks, that ain’t your fault.”

“Newsies code: if you’re walking, you’re working,” Davey counters stubbornly, scuffing the toe of his shoe against the pavement. “I’m walking, so I should be working.”

“I never shoulda told ya about that stupid code,” Jack says softly, shaking his head. “All ya do is use it as a excuse to work yourself into the ground.” He steps closer, tapping at Davey’s chin with his forefinger until he meets his eyes. “Davey, it’s okay to need a day. All of us need a day every now and then—this ain’t no different than those times when Crutchie needs a break to rest his leg or last month when Albert had that bad cold that knocked him on his ass. _It happens._ So stop bein’ so hard headed and take care of yourself for once, yeah?”

Davey huffs out a laugh. “You’re one to talk about being hard headed, Jackie,” he says, deflecting, and maybe some other time Jack would let him shrug his concerns aside, but not this time.

“Dave, I’m serious,” Jack says. “We got your back, okay? We’ll keep an eye on Les, split up your usual share of papes between the lot of us, and sell as many as we can. It’ll all work out; just let us help you, alright?”

“Alright,” Davey finally agrees. 

“Thank you, Dave,” Jack says, and he pulls him into a hug.

Davey comes easily into the embrace, hooking his chin over Jack’s shoulder and leaning into him with a soft sigh. Then he lets out a tiny, startled noise and all but collapses against Jack’s chest.

“Dave!” Jack yelps, hands flying to Davey’s waist to steady him. He’s gone completely limp, his knees buckling out from under him, eyes glazed over. “Davey, what—?”

And then Jack smells it. 

_Jesus Christ_ does he smell it.

Oh fuck. _Oh fuck._

“I thought you said ya had a couple more days before it hit?” Jack exclaims, shifting Davey around until he can cradle him against his chest. He can feel the heat pouring off of Davey even through his layers of clothes, sweat starting to bead fresh at his temple.

 _“I do,”_ Davey says, but it comes out as more of a moan, tucking his nose right against Jack’s scent gland and inhaling shakily. Jack’s fingers tighten around his waist of their own accord. “I… It _never_ hits early, it always comes… exactly… on time.”

But it’s undeniable. Davey’s blown right through the early stages and is revving up into a full-blown heat: right here, right now. 

Davey’s hands find the front of Jack’s shirt, clenching the fabric tight between his fists, his breaths coming in short, desperate pants. His scent has kicked up tenfold, saturating the air with _citrus-sugar-honey-spice,_ and Jack can feel himself starting to lose it, his own scent spiking as he spirals out.

Jack wants him. Wants to pin him up against the nearest flat surface and lick him all over. Wants to press his teeth against all that pretty, perfect skin until he’s covered in Jack’s scent and Jack’s marks. Wants to claim. Wants to make Davey _his._

“Race!” Jack calls out. He tries to focus, tries breathing through his mouth instead, but it does absolute fuck all to help—now he can taste Davey on his tongue. “Racetrack!”

Race comes running, skidding to a stop just inside the mouth of the alley, eyes wide and nostrils flaring. “What the fuck happened?” he asks, alarmed.

“Help,” Jack pleads, struggling to think rationally under the onslaught of _Davey,_ but it’s like walking against the tide. His hands sit heavy on Davey’s hips, just barely resisting the urge to pull him closer, but also unable to push him away. He’s not sure how much longer he’ll be able to hold out. “Tony, help.”

Racetrack takes a cautious step forward.

“Okay, Jack, how about we just—” Racetrack puts his hand on Jack’s arm, trying to coax him into letting go, and Davey fucking _growls_ , his lip curling back in a full-on snarl, an unmistakable declaration of _back the fuck off_ , which is possibly the hottest thing Jack’s ever seen in his life. 

“Or not!” Race yelps, quickly backing away, both hands raised in surrender. “Not is fine too, _holy shit._ ”

“Fuck, Race, I’m so sorry,” Davey says, groaning in embarrassment, head falling against Jack’s chest. “I didn’t mean to— _What is wrong with me?”_

“You’re in heat,” Race says, like that isn’t obvious at this point. “Your instincts are takin’ over.”

“But it’s never…” Davey struggles to find the words, starting to succumb to the heat haze once again. “It’s never like _this.”_

Race inches forward once again, this time moving towards Davey; Davey stiffens at his approach but manages to keep his head, standing stock still in the circle of Jack's arms.

“Let go of Jack, Davey,” Race murmurs, tugging lightly at the bottom of Davey’s vest. Davey’s hands fist even tighter in the fabric of Jack’s shirt, a low whine building steadily somewhere in the back of his throat. It takes everything Jack has not to react to the sound of it, to keep his grip open and loose instead of pulling Davey in tight like every fiber of his being is screaming at him to. “You gotta let him go.” 

Davey trembles, his scent souring with distress, and that’s even worse somehow—like a shot straight to the heart. Jack clenches his jaw, bites his lip so hard he tastes blood, but he doesn’t move.

Racetrack says, “Davey, let go.”

There’s an infinitely long pause. Then, with a pained whimper, Davey’s hands drop back to his sides. Jack forces himself take a step back, and then another, and then another—until Davey is safely out of arm’s reach.

“Take him home,” Jack pants out, because if he doesn’t say it now he’s not sure he’ll be able to get the words out at all. It feels like someone’s sent an electric current up his spine, liquid fire spreading through his veins: scorchingly hot and and almost painfully strong. “Racetrack, get him home.”

Racetrack cups a hand around Davey’s elbow, helping him lean against a stack of shipping pallets. Then he looks back over at Jack.

“Go get Les,” Race instructs him. “Tell him what’s going on. Then swing by West Avenue and find Specs, he should be closest, and send him this way.”

“Okay,” Jack says, but he doesn’t move. He’s still staring at Davey, at the furrow between his brow and the tense line of his shoulders, at the sweat beading across his forehead and unhappy set of his mouth. Every inch of him is screaming _hurtdangerprotecthelpfix_ to Jack frazzled instincts.

Jack wants to have him, hold him, comfort him, protect him. He _needs_ to protect him, needs to with a sort of all-encompassing intensity that makes his fucking bones ache. Just the thought of leaving him feels like tearing his own heart out of his chest.

“Jack,” Racetrack insists. “You need to go, okay? You being here is only gonna make it worse.”

But the first thing he needs protection from is _Jack,_ and that understanding is what finally gives Jack the strength to stagger away, to put one foot in front of the other and walk away from Davey. 

“Jack?” Davey whimpers, and Jack _can’t._ He can’t. He can’t leave him, he can’t leave him here, Davey needs him, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t. _“Jack.”_

But somehow, Jack does.

00000

Jack is absolutely impossible to live with for the next couple of days, and even though he knows it, recognizes that he’s stalking around the Lodging House like a particularly pissed off bear, he can’t make himself stop.

All he can think about is Davey: the look on his face, the bright blue of his eyes, the way he felt in Jack’s arms, and that unforgettable scent. 

Jack’s not an idiot, he knows what Davey’s doing right now. Imagines the long expanse of flushed, sweaty skin, spread deliciously across his bed. Eyes closed and lips parted, head thrown back. Muscles flexing, fingers clenching, hips working.

Jack presses the heels of his hands against his eyes, like that might stop the endless stream of images flickering through his mind, trying to will away his erection before it can fully form because if he has to jack it any more today his dick might actually fall off.

He shouldn’t be thinking about Davey like this. It’s rude and demeaning and perverted all kinds of other adjectives that basically add up to this: Davey is his best friend and Jack is a _fucking asshole,_ no better than any other knot-head alpha on the street, losing control of himself like some sort of animal. 

He doesn’t have any claim to Davey, _he doesn’t—_ not that his heart or his instincts are willing to accept the truth of that fact. Davey deserves better, deserves to be treated with all the respect and care in the world, deserves someone that will be able to keep up with that sharp mind and sharper tongue, someone that can give him stability and comfort and a good life.

Someone better than Jack.

But even just thinking about Davey with some hypothetical somebody sets Jack’s teeth on edge, makes his eyes flash red and a growl rumble through his chest. He throws himself back against the rooftop with a groan, angry and embarrassed and aroused and guilty. _God—fucking—damn it._

There’s a knock on the rooftop door, and then Crutchie’s head peeks out.

“Hey, Jack,” he says, voice gentle the way all of the Newsies’ voices have been the last couple of days, Jack’s fluctuating scent putting everyone on edge. Another wave of guilt rises up in him but Jack works to choke it back, trying not to let anything seep out. No one else should have to deal with Jack’s issues. “Uh, don’t freak out, but Sarah’s downstairs. She says she needs to talk to you, and it sounds like it’s serious.”

Jack jolts to his feet, heart in his throat. Because he knows, _he knows,_ that this is about Davey.

 _Something’s wrong,_ a voice whispers in Jack’s ear, _wronghurthelpwherefix._

Someone, maybe Racer or Finch, has lead Sarah to the side room just off the main hall. She smells agitated, her long hair thrown up in a messy bun and her nails bitten down to the quick, fiddling with a loose string on her blouse. She looks up when she hears them enter and her eyes are shaded dark with worry; Jack’s heart kicks into double time.

“I’ll give you the room,” Crutchie says, going to leave.

“Actually, Crutchie,” Sarah interjects, biting her lip. “Would you mind staying? I think that would probably be for the best.”

Jack goes stiff. He doesn’t like the implications of that request—that whatever she’s about to tell him is so bad that she thinks he’ll need Crutchie for support.

“Jack,” Crutchie says, rubbing at his nose. “At least let her talk before you start freakin’ out.”

Jack nods and makes a concerted effort to tamp down his scent, knowing that the crazy, distressed alpha pheromones he’s putting out aren’t pleasant for anyone. 

He’ll let Sarah talk. He’ll be calm. It’ll be okay.

“What’s wrong?” Jack blurts out. “What’s— Is it Davey? Is he okay?”

“He’s… not doing great,” Sarah quietly admits, and a spike of fear hits Jack so strongly that he goes dizzy with it.

“What’s going on?” he demands.

“This heat hit him really hard,” Sarah says, and there’s a tiniest hint of a tremor in her voice, which for Sarah might as well be a wave of tears. “I’ve never seen him like this. He can’t sleep, can’t keep any food or water down, and he’s burning hot and nothing we try can get the fever to break. We asked the nurse who lives downstairs to come look at him, and she thinks it’s the result of some kind of incomplete scent bond—that Davey’s body thinks he has an alpha, has found his mate, and the heat won’t be soothed without them.”

“Okay,” Jack says, raking a hand through his hair, feeling a little like he might shake out of his skin. “Okay, well, does Davey know who he’s scent bonded to? A scent bond only happens 'cause of a courtship, right? So he must know who it is.”

Jack’s stomach churns. He can’t imagine how he’s missed the signs of a courtship, or why Davey wouldn’t have told him about it.

Unless, Jack realizes, heart sinking, unless he figured it out. Unless he found out about Jack’s feelings and chose not to tell him about his suitor. About the person he actually wants. The person he really wants to ma—

Jack staggers to the nearest wall and leans against it. “Who is it?” he grits out. “Who…?”

Sarah and Crutchie exchange a glance, one full of shared understanding. Jack has a brief moment of betrayal, outraged that Crutchie knows who Davey’s been courting with too, that maybe it’s some kind of shared secret that everyone else knows about but Jack—

“It’s you,” Sarah says. “Jack, it’s you.”

“What?” Jack breathes.

“It’s you,” Sarah repeats. “Of course it’s you. Jack, who else would it be?”

Jack blinks, then blinks again. He’s hearing her words but it’s like he can’t internalize what she’s saying, the information hitting his ears, then bouncing away without sticking.

_“....Me?”_

“Yes,” Sarah says, the tone of her voice starting to edge towards exasperated. “Davey’s instincts think you’re his mate, that’s why his heat flared up early when he was with you and why it’s been so bad.”

But that’s impossible, Jack thinks, and he tells her as much. “We ain’t even courting, there can’t be a scent bond.”

“Maybe you haven’t said the words, ‘hey, can I court you?’” Sarah disagrees, shaking her head. “But you’ve _definitely_ been treating him like he’s an omega you’re courting.”

Jack stares at her. Sarah heaves a massive sigh.

“Jack, the two of you are so mated it’s disgusting,” she informs him. “You practically live in each other’s pockets, scenting each other, sharing food and clothes, super protective and possessive of each other. The only surprising part about all this is that you’re not mated already.”

“You look at Davey like he’s the center of your world, Jack,” Crutchie chimes in. “He’s the only one that’s always able to calm you down, the only one that’s always allowed into your space. We’ve all been waiting for you to get together for ages.”

Jack’s thoughts whirl and whirl. 

“Okay, fine,” he eventually says, raking a hand through his hair. “It’s no big secret that I’m in love with Davey, but are you sure _I’m_ the one he’s scent bonded to? Just ‘cause I want him doesn’t mean he wants me back—maybe he’s got some kinda private courtship thing goin’ on that he jus’ hasn’t told us about.”

“It’s you,” Sarah says flatly.

“Okay, then are ya sure that it’s a mating thing?” Jack asks. “Because yeah, I’m enough of an lovestruck idiot that I’ll buy that I was accidentally courting Davey—” He can feel the back of his neck heating up in mortification even as he says it. “—but are you sure Davey actually wants this, that it ain’t just his heat talking? Maybe he didn’t mean to… reciprocate or whatever, and the scent bond was an accident. Maybe he don’t actually want _me_ —”

Sarah reaches out and slaps him over the head. _“Ow,_ Sarah, what—?”

“Stupid, overprotective alphas,” she says with a scoff. “Always thinking they know best. _Davey’s asking for you,_ okay? He wants _you._ If you’re not ready to take the next step, not brave enough to admit how you feel then, fine, whatever, but at least have the guts to come out and say it instead of pretending like Davey doesn’t know what he wants just because he’s in heat—”

“Wait,” Jack interrupts, dumbfounded, because there's no way he just heard Sarah say what he thinks she said. “He actually said he wanted me? He asked for me, specifically?”

“Davey’s in love with you,” Sarah says, with the strong implication of _‘you goddamn moron’_ underneath. “Of course he asked for you.”

The ground shifts and spins beneath Jack’s feet. _Oh._

Sarah seems to take Jack’s stunned silence for hesitation. 

“Look, if you’re really that against it—if it’s making you uncomfortable—then you don’t have to help,” she says, starting to worry the edge of her sleeve between her fingers. “But, the nurse told us that if the alpha he’s bonded to can’t help him, then the only other option is to take him to a heat clinic.”

Jack’s vision blurs red. He must lose a few seconds because the next thing he’s aware of is Sarah’s furrowed brow, her eyes darting worriedly between Jack and Crutchie, who’s startled away. Jack doesn’t have to look at him to know that Crutchie has covered his nose and mouth with his hand in a futile attempt to block out Jack’s scent, which has gone absolutely acrid in response to this statement.

Sarah’s nose wrinkles, and then she sneezes twice in quick succession. “I’m guessing you’d rather not let that happen?” she delicately asks.

“No,” Jack says, his voice rumbling somewhere low in his chest. “No, not if he’s… Not if he really…” He stares at Sarah again, expression hard. “You swear this is what he asked for?” he demands. “You’re sure he wants me?”

“I’m sure,” Sarah says, gently, like she knows how important it is for Jack to hear it. “Jack, he’s been asking for you since his heat started. He _begged_ for me to come get you. I’m sure.”

Jack swallows, then lets out a slow, shaky breath. “Okay.”

00000

“Wait here,” Sarah says. Jack blinks, then realizes that between one moment and the next they’ve made it all the way to the Jacobs’ building. “It’s just Mama and Davey upstairs, but I’ll tell them you’re here.”

Jack gives a jerky nod and Sarah disappears inside, returning some twenty minutes later with Mrs. Jacobs and a suitcase.

“How’s he doin'?’” Jack asks, skin tight with worry and anticipation.

Sarah shakes her head. “Not great,” she says. “It’s a good thing you came, I don’t think he could’ve handled much more of this.”

“Hello, Jack,” Mrs. Jacobs says, and she looks exhausted but her scent is tinged with relief. “Did Sarah tell you everything?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jack says. “I—”

Jack tenses, nostrils flaring, and he whips around just as a third person exits the Jacobs’ building. Jack manages to keep from growling at the unfamiliar person but only just barely, and it’s a good thing he does. Because this alpha is older, at least fifteen or twenty years older than Davey’s mother, and is so obviously not any kind of romantic competition that Jack feels more than a bit stupid for letting his senses get away from him.

As if she knows exactly what he’s thinking, the other Alpha lets out a dismissive snort, pinning him with a look that’s thoroughly unimpressed, and Jack feels something inside him stand at attention. She might not be competition, but Jack has no doubt that she could still lay him out on the concrete if she wanted to.

“This is the one?” she barks out.

“Yes, Mrs. Lansdon, this is Jack,” Mrs. Jacobs confirms with a nod. “He’s the boy Davey’s bonded to.”

“And what on Earth possessed you to court and scent bond with an omega, only to abandon him when he needs you most?” Mrs. Lansdon asks him, raising an eyebrow. 

Jack forces himself not to rise to this bait. “I didn’t know that’s what I was doin’,” he grits out, in a voice he hopes is at least approaching calm. “I didn’t realize what’d happened until just a while ago, when Sarah told me.”

“You’re saying you _accidentally_ scent bonded to an omega?” Her tone of voice tells Jack exactly what she thinks of this idea. 

“Yes.”

“Hmmm…” Mrs. Lansdon turns back to Davey’s mother. “Esther, far be it from me it insert myself in all of this, but are you sure this is wise? It’s not too late to make an appointment with the heat clinic. I’ll escort you myself if that’s what you’re concerned about…” She trails off mid-sentence, both eyebrows shooting up high on her wrinkled forehead—no doubt in response to the distressed, frantic alpha scent that’s rolling off of Jack in waves.

“ _No,_ ” Jack chokes out, his whole body clenching up at the thought. “Not if Davey’s asking for me. Not if this is still what he wants.”

“I thought you said it was an accident?”

“It was, but—” Jack pauses, struggling to articulate himself in the face of this unexpected scrutiny, his every instinct urging him to just shoulder his way up the stairs and _find Davey_. “—But that don’t mean this ain’t important to me, that Davey ain’t important to me. Because he is. He’s everythin’ to me.”

Mrs. Lansdon hits him with a shrewd, evaluating look, then her expression seems to soften ever so slightly.

“I suppose it’s not a crime to be young and foolish,” she concedes. “You aren’t the first alpha to have his instincts gallop off with his heart and you won’t be the last.” She turns back to Mrs. Jacobs and says, “Your boy will be perfectly safe, Esther, don’t you worry. All of the other tenants are betas, and if I see any strange alphas roaming around, chasing after a scent knot-first, I’ll shoot them.” 

She says all of this very mildly, as if simply commenting on the weather. Sarah’s brow furrows and Mrs. Jacobs gives a nervous smile, like neither are sure if this is a joke or not, but Jack is under no such delusions. Mrs. Lansdon is utterly serious.

“Thank you,” Jack says, truly meaning it. 

Mrs. Lansdon looks at him again, and that judgmental exterior thaws out even further. “Well, you just get on up there and take care of your omega,” she says gruffly. “It won’t do to keep him waiting. Let us sort out all the rest of it.”

“I will,” he promises, to Mrs. Lansdon, to Mrs. Jacobs, to Sarah, and to himself. “I’ll take care of him.”

“There’s bread and turkey in the kitchen for sandwiches,” Sarah tells him. “Plus a bag of apples and a good supply of water. We just did laundry, so there are plenty of linens and clean clothes in the wardrobe.”

“Make sure you keep him hydrated,” Mrs. Jacobs says, hefting her purse more securely over her shoulder. “And see if you can get him to eat something. We’re staying just up the road with another family from our synagogue, I left the number for you in case there’s an emergency.”

“Just follow your instincts and you’ll be fine,” Mrs. Lansdon advises. 

“Oh, and Jack,” Mrs. Jacobs says, just before he goes to head inside, her expression serious. “There’s a package of alpha sheathes on the kitchen table. I expect you to use them.”

Jack feels his face turn red. “Right,” he squeaks out. “Right, of course. Understood, ma’am.”

He hurries inside, rushing up the stairs two and three at a time.

Jack can smell Davey the moment he reaches the floor for his apartment, a hint of sweetness in the air that makes Jack’s mouth water before he even gets the front door open. He finds the sheathes right where Mrs. Jacobs said he would, and though he’s mortified at the thought of her or Davey’s father going out and buying them, he’s also grateful for their foresight. A pregnancy is the last thing either Jack or Davey needs.

The further he walks into the apartment, the stronger that incredible scent becomes. It’s already doing things to him—making his brain cloudy and his heart race, his dick starting to strain against the front of his pants—growing stronger and stronger until all Jack can smell is Davey.

He pauses just outside of Davey’s bedroom, grasping the doorknob in unsteady hands; that _spiced-sugar-citrus_ smell is so heavy in the air that it feels like it’s coating the inside of his mouth. He pushes open the door.

Jack’s eyes go wide, his brain skidding to a screeching halt. The sheathes fall from his suddenly slackened grip, hitting the floor and bouncing away, but that’s not important right now. Nothing’s more important than what’s in front of him.

Davey is draped across his bed, gloriously naked with a thin sheen of sweat coating his body, and the sight and smell of him is like nothing Jack’s ever dreamed. His hair, usually combed neatly across his forehead, is sticking up in every direction and his eyes are glassy with fevered desire. His hips are moving in tight, tiny circles, but he’s rocking into open air—not an active attempt to get off, but like he just can’t help himself—and his chest is heaving, all that bare skin flushed and rosy from his heat. 

He tips his head back, giving Jack an unobstructed view of the long, lovely line of his unmarked throat, then turns to face him. As their eyes meet something in Jack’s chest stills and centers, some baser instinct prowling in the back of his mind whispering, _‘Oh._ Oh, that’s _mine.’_

“Jack,” Davey moans, and the sound of it is like a siren’s call. Jack’s stripped off his shirt and vest before he realizes that he’s moved. _“Jack_.”

“Jesus Christ, Davey,” Jack growls, fumbling for his fly, stepping out of his pants as he moves closer. “Do you have any idea what you look like right now?”

“Where have you been?” Davey demands, nonsensically, and Jack’s just found out about all this, came almost immediately once he understood what was going on, but somewhere in the back of his mind he’s wondering the same thing. _Where has he been?_

“I’m here, now, sweetheart,” Jack says, climbing onto the bed and settling between Davey’s legs, right where he’s supposed to be. “I’m here, I’ve got you.”

Jack runs a soothing hand along Davey’s stomach and hips, then spreads his cheeks nice and wide, uncovering the perfect, rosy furl of Davey’s hole. He’s slick with need, all glossy and pink, but nowhere near as stretched as Jack had expected him to be after nearly two days of heat.

“Haven’t you been…?” Jack asks as he runs a finger through the delicious mess of slick glistening around Davey’s entrance, because he can’t imagine Davey getting to this point—all strung out and panting and aching with it—and not doing anything to quell the fire.

But Davey shakes his head. “I tried at first…” he whines, unspeakably frustrated, canting his hips up into Jack’s touch and letting his thighs fall open that much more, beckoning Jack to explore further. “But it wasn’t helping, it wasn’t ever _enough,_ and that was worse than not touching myself at all.”

Jack nips possessively at Davey’s inner thigh, watching the skin there bloom red under his ministrations, then lowers himself down, pressing his nose right to where that intoxicating scent is strongest. He lingers there for a moment, just basking in the heady scent of _Davey,_ and _perfect,_ and _mine, mine, mine,_ then licks him right where he’s wettest, lapping up every last drop of that thick, honey-sweetness. It’s absolutely incredible—the taste of him is better than anything Jack could’ve ever imagined—and he can’t help but groan, the sound of it rumbling low in his chest.

“Oh, fuck,” Davey gasps, and his hands go tight in Jack’s hair, pulling him closer. Jack doesn’t need to be told twice, pressing his tongue deep inside, working him open with every swirl and flick and thrust. Davey is hot, searingly hot under his hands and on his lips, and Jack understands why the Jacobs’ were so worried, because there’s no way this is a regular heat. But the thought slips away as quickly as it arrived because this is _everything,_ this is where Jack _belongs_ —eating Davey out until he’s trembling and desperate for it, just as wet from Jack’s tongue as he is from his slick.

“Jack,” Davey begs, nails digging into Jack’s scalp. “Jackie, please, I need more.”

“You’re not ready yet,” Jack says. He pulls off Davey’s hole just enough so that he can slide two fingers into him, and Davey cries out, a throaty, guttural noise that sends a bolt of want shooting straight to Jack’s dick.

“Jackie—”

“I said, _you’re not ready yet,”_ Jack growls, adding another finger and crooking them up, and Davey moans, back arching up off the bed. “You gotta trust me, sweetheart. You gotta let me help you.”

Davey quivers beneath his hands. “I can’t,” he sobs. “It’s not enough— _I can’t_.”

“Yes, you can, _cielito,_ ” Jack murmurs, working his fingers even deeper. Davey tears at his sheets, scrabbling for some kind of anchor, then one of his hands comes up to wrap around his cock, jacking it hard and fast in his fist. “That’s it, Dave, c’mon. I wanna see you. I wanna watch you come on my fingers.”

 _“Jack,_ ” Davey mewls, and he’s soaking, dripping all over Jack’s hand, pretty and perfect and so, so close. “Jack, I need… I want… _Jack.”_

“Give it up for me, David,” Jack commands. He twists his hand, scissors his fingers, finds that little spot inside and presses it hard, over and over again. “Let go for me, sweetheart.”

Davey’s voice breaks on a scream, his body locking up and his muscles clamping down around Jack’s fingers like a vice. His eyes are glazed over with pleasure, come striping his belly as he twitches in Jack’s arms, and it’s like something reaches into Jack’s chest and pulls, shifting the landscape of his heart around until Jack can barely breathe around the discovery of _Davey, Davey, always Davey_ that ripples through him in time with his pulse.

“God, Davey, you are fucking gorgeous like this,” Jack says, eyes raking greedily over Davey’s form. _“Tan bonito, tan guapo, y es todo para mi_.” 

Jack leans over him, biting and kissing at every bit of skin he can get at as he works his way up the long lines of Davey’s body. Davey’s even prettier in this moment just after: that edge of burning desire bordering on pain soothed away, leaving only sweet satisfaction behind… and with a plea for more simmering just underneath. Jack can’t do anything except oblige.

“Jack,” Davey moans when Jack’s lips find one of his nipples, his hands threading through Jack’s hair once again. “Oh my… _mnh_.”

“Tell me what you need, Davey,” Jack rasps against that fever-hot skin, moving over to give the other nipple the same attention, swirling his tongue around it until it pebbles in his mouth. “Let me give you what you need.”

“You, Jackie,” Davey says, arching up into Jack’s mouth with a breathy sigh, his knees coming up to bracket Jack’s hips. “Just you. Always you.”

“No,” Jack says, pulling away and bracing himself with his hands on either side of Davey’s head, forcing Davey to hold his gaze. “Tell me, David. I need you to tell me.”

Davey looks utterly debauched lying underneath him, mouth open and panting, pupils blown wide and eyelashes fluttering against the rosy flush of his cheekbones, but his voice is steady and serious when he says, “I need you, Jackie. I need you to fuck me, I need your knot. Please, alpha.”

Jack’s whole body shudders at these words, his heartbeat a deafening roar in his ears. “You have me,” he breathes. “I’ll give it to you, you’ll have me, omega.” Then he closes that whisper of space between them and kisses him.

It’s hot and deep and a little frantic. Davey groans, his lips parting eagerly to his own, and then Jack’s licking into his mouth, needing to lay claim to every inch of him. Because Davey is _his_ , that lush mouth and those bright eyes are _Jack’s_ , those soft little keens of pleasure and the spike of sugar sweetness in the air are all for _Jack_ , only for _Jack._ He takes Davey’s lower lip between his teeth and sucks, swallows down Davey’s answering moan and keeps on kissing him, starving for more of him, and it’s only then that Jack realizes that he’s growling, actually growling into Davey’s mouth, the vibrations rumbling through the both of them from where they’re pressed together. 

Davey looks stunned, just absolutely amazed and overwhelmed, and he reaches up with trembling hands to cup around either side of Jack’s face, thumbs sweeping gently over Jack’s cheekbones. “Jack?” he asks, voice hushed with reverence. 

“I know, Davey,” Jack replies, nuzzling at Davey’s neck as he tries to regain some semblance of control. “I’m right there with you.”

Because he’d understood the explanation, he’d known, distantly, what a scent bond meant, but that’s nothing compared to _this_ —this feeling of perfectly matched pieces finally slotting into place, of _home_ and _right_ and _mate_. Of _yours_ and _mine,_ and _mine,_ but _yours._

Davey squirms in Jack’s hold, his eyes starting to smolder and his scent surging with a fresh wave of arousal, and Jack latches onto it, uses it to ground himself. Davey needs him, that’s what matters. Everything else can wait. 

Jack kisses him again, then leans over to grab a sheath from where he dropped them on the floor, rolling it on with shaky hands. 

“This still what you want?” Jack asks.

“Yes, but,” Davey bites his lip, pushing himself up on his elbows. “I want to... Can we...?”

Davey flips over onto his stomach, lifts up on his hands and knees, and _presents_ , just like that. Jack inhales sharply, feeling his eyes bleed red. 

He’s only human. And Davey is _everything._

Jack’s instincts take over. He kneels behind Davey, curls his hands around his hips and tilts his pelvis up, gets a perfect view of shiny, slick-covered thighs and a dripping wet hole, then lines himself up and pushes in, pressing forward until his hips are seated right against Davey’s ass.

Hot, scorchingly hot, hot enough to burn Jack from the inside out, and devastatingly tight. Jack can’t breathe, can’t think, his spine stiff as he fights against the urge to just take and take and take. Davey makes a noise that’s all startled pleasure, spreads his knees even wider, then tries to fuck himself on Jack’s dick, desperate and clumsy with it. Jack tightens his grip on Davey’s hips—an unspoken command to settle, to let Jack lead—and then takes over, fucking into him in long, powerful strokes.

It’s a rush of sensations. Jack feels completely in control and two seconds from losing it, pulled out to sea by the rip current of _Davey_ , of how Davey feels, a tight silken paradise clenching around him, of how he sounds, the little gasps and grunts that tear out of his throat punctuated by the slap of skin against skin, of how Davey smells, that heady sweetness tempered by Jack’s own scent blending and melding with it.

Jack grinds in deep, pulls out slow, then picks up the pace, driven by some primal need to claim, to wreck Davey like no one ever has before, to possess everything Davey can give him and then give himself right back in return, until they’re so tangled together that they can’t be torn apart. _Mine,_ but _yours._

Davey is fucking gorgeous beneath Jack’s hands, head hanging down and his back bowed in beautiful submission, clutching at the sheets as he mewls and sobs. Jack presses a hand to the nape of his neck, then works an arm underneath him and hauls him upright so that they’re pressed together, back to chest, and the change in angle makes them both cry out. 

“Fuck, Jack,” Davey whimpers. “Oh, god, right there.”

It’s so good and yet not enough. Jack can feel his knot starting to swell, catching on Davey’s rim each time he pulls out, and the hot, wet sound of it is driving the possessive, alpha side of him absolutely crazy. He’s distantly aware of mouthing at Davey’s throat, lapping up the salt and sugar there and murmuring a stream of praise against his pulse: some in English, some in Spanish, and some that just comes out as indistinct growls, their meaning lost to a rush of primal instinct. 

Because Davey might be the one in heat but Jack feels like he’s about to shatter right along with him, every thrust of his hips dragging him closer and closer to his breaking point. It’s push and pull, give and take, each brush of skin and wisp of breath shared between them stitching them together: two halves of a whole. That’s what they are now, or maybe that’s what they’ve always been, and now that Jack’s found it, now that he’s figured it out, there’s no chance in hell he’s letting it go. _Yours_ and _mine_ and _ours._

Jack’s not going to last much longer, his knot starting to fill out in earnest. From the sounds he’s making, Davey can’t be far behind. Jack presses in hard, then rolls his hips into his next several thrusts, trying to give Davey that last push over the edge. His hand slides down to sit low on Davey’s stomach, as if he could somehow pull him closer, somehow take him deeper, and he works a mark into the space behind Davey’s ear, thrilling in the wrecked little moan that leaves his lips as Jack stakes his claim.

Jack nips and bites his way down Davey’s throat, setting his teeth right against that perfect spot where Davey’s neck meets his shoulder, and Davey lets out a noise of pure _want_ and tilts his head to the side, baring even more of his throat to him.

 _“Alpha,”_ Davey begs. “Yes, Jack, please, bite me, Alpha, _bite me_ , please _ohfuckyes_ —”

It’s with the last fraying thread of his control that Jack manages not to follow through with this request.

 _“David,”_ he grits out, fingers digging into Davey’s hips to the point that he has to be leaving bruises. “Dave, are you sure? You gotta be sure, sweetheart, ‘cause we can’t come back from this.”

“We already can’t come back from this,” Davey says, and it’s true. They’re already changed. “I want this, Jackie, please. _Please._ ”

“Mine,” Jack growls, grinding in one last time as his knot fully pops. “My omega. _Mine._ ” He places one last kiss to Davey’s neck, then bites down, hard, and comes.

Davey locks down around him like a vice, his body jerking and twitching as he rides out his own orgasm, panting through the sharp pleasure-pain of Jack’s teeth breaking skin. It feels like nothing else, this moment of togetherness and completion—like he’s found a piece of himself that he hadn’t realized was missing until it fit itself neatly back into place. 

Davey. Mate. Forever.

When Jack comes back to himself, it’s like floating back into his body after the most incredible dream. There’s the decadent warmth of skin pressed all along his front, the steady thump of Davey’s heartbeat against his chest, the comforting weight of him in Jack’s arms. He shifts them around so they can lay on their sides, careful to keep from jostling Davey too much with the motion, hands settling securely around his waist. He swipes his tongue along the rapidly healing mating mark, then tucks his nose into the space behind Davey’s ear and inhales, something settling smugly in his chest when all he scents is deep satisfaction and a blossom of happiness—no undercurrent of pain or discomfort. 

He feels Davey curl back into him with a quiet, contented noise, limbs heavy with exhaustion and relief. Jack opens his mouth to ask him how he feels, if he needs anything, if he’s okay.

What he actually says is, in a raspy whisper right next to Davey’s ear, “I love you.”

Davey shivers. He lifts one of Jack’s hands up and kisses his palm, then weaves their fingers together, their hands clasped right over Davey’s heart. 

He says, “I know you do, Jackie. You wouldn’t’ve come if you didn’t.” Another kiss, this one to Jack’s knuckles. “I love you, too.”

“You’re mine now,” Jack says, half amazement, half promise, drawing Davey more tightly against the curve of his body. “All mine.”

Jack feels more than hears Davey’s answering smile. 

“Oh, Jackie, love,” he says tenderly, perfectly relaxed in Jack’s embrace. “I was already yours.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> Come hang out with me on tumblr! @LiveSincerely <3


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